


First, Do No Harm

by CelticKnot



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, F/M, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-08-14 11:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: The Normandy is plucked from the height of the Reaper War and emerges, damaged and limping, two hundred years later at Deep Space Nine in a version of reality where the Reapers never existed. The two crews must work together to get them home. But when Tali is injured in an accident, they suddenly find themselves racing against time...





	1. Through the Looking-Glass

**Author's Note:**

> After much thought and hand-wringing and hair-pulling, I’ve decided to scrap “The Saddest Are These” entirely and start over. I just couldn’t juggle the huge double ensemble cast and the half-dozen-plus storylines I’d started. So I picked out a couple that I liked and thought I could work with, and this is the result. I hope you enjoy it!

The wormhole sparked and flared as it burst open, jagged blue arcs tearing its graceful swirls of energy to tattered shreds. It seemed to choke, to cough, and finally spit out a ship that looked as though it had been through a war.

"Magnify," Captain Sisko ordered.

Bashir studied the ship on the screen with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. She was like no other he'd ever seen before. Sleek and slender, she had four large engines held away from her sides on wide struts, giving her a roughly triangular shape. She was smaller than most Starfleet ships of the line, perhaps the length of the _Defiant _but far narrower. The hull was scarred, possibly ruptured in places, and one of the engines sputtered feebly. The rest were dark. The ship limped along on little more than momentum, leaking plasma from her ventral hull, all but dead in space.

If anyone was alive on that ship, they were going to need medical attention. That was always a difficult way to make first contact, if that's what this was.

Over at the science station, Jadzia frowned at her console. "Benjamin, I'm getting some very strange readings here."

"Anything dangerous?" Sisko asked.

"No, sir, I don't think so. Just… strange." She shook her head. "I'm reading life signs, but I can't get a clear enough scan to count them. The ship's design doesn't match anything in our database, and the energy signature from its warp drive is… well, it's definitely capable of faster-than-light travel. But, Benjamin," she said, looking up at him with wide eyes, "I don't think it's a warp drive! It's a technology I've never seen before."

First contact, indeed. Bashir sent a message to the Infirmary to prepare for a potential emergency triage situation as Sisko said, "Hail them."

"Actually, they're hailing us," Jadzia reported. "Audio only."

"Open a channel." Sisko turned toward the viewscreen. "Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the Federation starbase _Deep Space Nine. _Do you need assistance?"

The comm channel cracked with static until Bashir could barely make out the startled-sounding response. "—ace Nine, _this is… _—SV Normandy _of… —tems Alli… —esting vector and ber… —emergency rep…"_

"Did he say 'Normandy?'" Bashir asked quietly. Surely this ship hadn't come from Earth. Of course, the audio connection was very poor—more likely, it was just his brain piecing together barely intelligible syllables and trying to supply something familiar.

But as the distressed ship's drift brought her port side into full view, her name became visible, drawing startled gasps from all over Ops. _Normandy _indeed, unmistakably emblazoned in huge Latin letters along half the length of the hull.

"Deep… —ine, _do you copy? —ife supp… —tems are fai… —ediate assistance!"_

"We read you, _Normandy. _Stand by for docking instructions." Sisko gave Jadzia a short, sharp nod, and she began transmitting. "Engineering and medical teams will meet you at the docking bay."

"—_owledged."_

Sisko glanced at Bashir. "Doctor, with me."

* * *

The airlock door rolled open, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke and a small crowd of people. Only about two dozen, all told, stumbling and coughing as DS9's medical and security personnel assisted the evacuation. The _Normandy _must have been running on a skeleton crew.

The last three people to evacuate came out together. Two were aliens whose species Bashir didn't recognize: one tall, lanky, and vaguely avian-looking, with tough armor-like skin; the other more humanoid, but blue-skinned, with stiff tentacles on her head instead of hair. Between them, however, they supported a barely conscious woman in what looked like a military dress uniform of some kind.

And she was human.

With some effort, the woman pulled away from her crewmates and drew herself up straight. "Captain Sisko?" she asked. The words were slightly slurred, and Bashir could see where her dark hair was matted with blood. He had his medical tricorder in his hands immediately, and it confirmed what he already suspected: the woman had a severe concussion.

"That's me," Sisko said. "And this is Doctor Julian Bashir; he'll see to your wounded."

The woman saluted, even as her posture wavered. "Commander Morgan Shepard, Alliance Navy. This is Liara T'Soni and Garrus Vakarian. Thank you for… your…"

She stumbled and would have collapsed if Vakarian hadn't caught her. Clutching his arm to remain upright, she shook her head as if to clear it, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

Bashir stepped forward. "All right, Commander, the formalities can wait," he said gently. "Let's get you to the Infirmary, shall we?"

Shepard shook her head again. "My crew…"

"They'll be taken care of, too, don't you worry," Bashir reassured her. He glanced up at Vakarian, whose anxious eyes were locked on Shepard. "Help me with her."

"Huh? Yeah, okay." Vakarian bent and scooped her up as though she weighed nothing, cradling her in his arms like a child—not what Bashir had expected, but it would do.

Shepard slapped at his keel. "Put me down, Garrus," she slurred. "I can walk."

But Vakarian ignored her. "Lead the way, Doctor."

* * *

Morgan Shepard opened her eyes with a moan. She felt heavy and weak. Blinking as her blurry vision cleared, she struggled for a moment to remember where she was, and how she'd gotten here.

_Reapers everywhere. Taking hits. Jump to FTL. Weird lights, we're shaking apart, is that a space station?_

She heard Garrus shout something, and then his scarred face floated into view. "Easy, Shepard," he murmured. "You took a bad hit to the head. Doctor Bashir got you all patched up, though, and he says you'll be fine." His mandibles flared in a reassuring smile.

"Doctor… who?" she groaned, struggling to sit up. "Where are we, Garrus? Where's Doctor Chakwas? Is the crew…?"

"Your crew is just fine, Commander," came a smooth, gentle voice. Shepard looked up to see two men enter the ward: one curly-haired and slender, with blue shoulders on his jacket; the other bald, broader, and wearing red. It was the man in blue who'd spoken. "You were the only one seriously injured," he continued. "Doctor Chakwas is on the Promenade getting something to eat, I believe, and most everyone else is already making repairs on the _Normandy. _But Garrus here hasn't left your side."

Shepard nodded, a little surprised when the motion didn't produce the wave of dizziness she'd belatedly expected. "Thanks, Doctor." She turned to the other man as memory began to sluggishly return. "Captain… Sisko?"

He smiled kindly. "That's right. I'm sure you have plenty more questions, Commander. I certainly have some for you, if you feel up to it."

Shepard sat up straighter and swung her legs off the side of the bed, relieved to find herself still in her uniform rather than a hospital gown. She was feeling better by the minute, actually. She didn't know what kind of medical technology these people had, but she hoped she could get a hold of some of it for the _Normandy_'s med bay. "You bet I have questions, sir," she said. "Starting with, _what is this place? _Your technology, your uniform—I don't recognize any of it. You're human, but not Alliance."

As Garrus turned away from their conversation to speak with Joker on the comm, Sisko sat on another bed, facing her. Keeping this informal, then. "To be honest with you, Commander, I don't know anything about this Alliance of yours," he said. _"Deep Space Nine _is a Starfleet outpost belonging to the United Federation of Planets."

"I've never heard of this Federation. Or Starfleet," Shepard replied, frowning. "The Systems Alliance encompasses all human territories, from Earth to the Traverse to Citadel space. I mean, I know there are other human organizations out there, but… this doesn't look like a Terminus operation."

"Hold on. Earth?" Sisko repeated. "Starfleet Headquarters is on Earth."

The two commanders stared at each other in bewilderment, neither one understanding the other.

It was Garrus who finally broke the silence. "Excuse me, Captain Sisko," he said hesitantly. "Our pilot was just looking at his star charts, and he wants me to ask you… what year it is."

"What year?" Sisko frowned. "By Earth standard, it's 2372." He hesitated. "Why do you ask?"

_There _went the dizziness. Shepard's eyes went wide as the breath left her in a rush. "We're two hundred years in the future."

Now it was Garrus's turn to stare. "We're _what?"_

Shepard kept her eyes locked on Sisko. "Captain, as far as my crew and I were aware, it's 2186. We came from the height of the Reaper War." Her jaw dropped as the implications dawned on her, overwhelming her shock with incredulous joy, and she laughed in delight. "And if you're here, now, that means… that means we _won!"_

Sisko and Bashir looked from her to each other, utterly uncomprehending. "The Mirror Universe?" the doctor asked quietly. The tone of his voice made it a proper name, something this crew had encountered before. The tension on his face implied the experience had not been pleasant.

"Not the same one," Sisko replied. He turned back to Shepard. "Another one."

The room was most definitely spinning now, the joy draining away to leave only the incredulity. If this was true, she and her crew were much farther from home than she'd imagined. Farther than should have ever been possible. "Are you saying we're in some kind of… alternate reality?" she demanded. "And you've had contact with others before?"

"I'm afraid so, Commander," Sisko said grimly.

Shepard reached for the one slim thread of hope she could find. "Then… you know how to get us home."

But Sisko shook his head, and Shepard felt that thread dissolve in her grasp. "It's not that simple."

"Of course not," Garrus muttered darkly, echoing her own thoughts. "It can never be _that simple."_

Shepard shot him a warning look, then asked Sisko, "So what's our next step, then?"

Sisko stood, and Shepard hopped down off the bed as well. "First, I think your senior staff and mine should meet. Try to find some common ground so we can understand one another. Then I think our science teams should knock heads and see what they come up with."

Despite the situation, Shepard had to smile. She liked Sisko already—he reminded her a bit of Admiral Anderson. "Sounds good."

"I'd also like to volunteer my engineering staff to assist with repairs to the _Normandy _wherever they can," he continued. "In the meantime, you and your crew are welcome to make use of the Promenade—if you're coming from a war zone, a little shore leave may do your people some good. May as well make the most of the situation."

"Thank you, Captain. I think we'll take you up on all of that." Shepard reached out to shake Sisko's hand. "Dr. Liara T'Soni is my lead scientist; who should I have her reach out to?"

"That would be me," came a voice from the doorway before Sisko could respond. Shepard turned to see a woman there, apparently human, with strange markings tattooed down either side of her face. "Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax," said the newcomer by way of introduction. "I've already been in touch with Liara over comm, and we've started to hash out some theories. I'm looking forward to meeting her in person."

Shepard shook her proffered hand as well. "There's more to Liara than meets the eye."

Dax's eyes twinkled, and she smiled warmly. "Then I think we'll get along just fine."


	2. To Talk of Many Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Mass Effect, the names of alien species usually begin with a lowercase letter (e.g. asari, turian, quarian, etc.), whereas in Star Trek, they're usually capitalized (Klingon, Bajoran, Cardassian, and so on). My theory is that this because Star Trek species are usually named after their homeworlds (e.g. Cardassians from Cardassia), but in Mass Effect, they're usually not (as in turians from Palaven). However, I also think that each character would think according to the norms of their own universe. Therefore, all species names will be capitalized in the POV of Star Trek characters, and lowercase in the POV of Mass Effect characters.

_Deep Space Nine_'s conference room was probably twice the size of _Normandy_'s war room, and far more open. A place for discussion and negotiation, not strategizing; for building peace, not waging war. Shepard appreciated what that said about the Federation's values. Captain Sisko had told her a little bit about the history of this region of space, about the tensions between the bajorans and the cardassians that Starfleet had come to mediate, and she was impressed by the peaceful, cosmopolitan atmosphere of the station. It felt more like the Citadel than any Alliance border outpost.

Both Shepard's squad and Sisko's senior officers fit comfortably around the large table, and everyone seemed to have found their counterpart from the other crew. Doctors Chakwas and Bashir, finally able to converse outside of an emergency situation, were already comparing notes. So too were Liara and Dax—who, Shepard had learned, was not human at all, and far older than she looked. Chief O'Brien had seemed a little taken aback at Tali's face mask at first, but had quickly warmed up to her, and the two were engaged in animated conversation. Garrus had taken a seat beside Worf and was trying—and failing—to strike up a conversation with the perpetually scowling klingon. Ashley and the bajoran, Kira, seemed to have found some common ground, and no one seemed bothered by the presence of an unshackled AI in the room.

Well, Shepard _had _caught O'Brien and Bashir whispering to each other while trying not to stare at EDI, but she somehow suspected it wasn't her intelligence they were discussing.

"All right, everyone, let's get started," Sisko said, and the room quieted immediately. He let the silence settle for a moment, then addressed his own crew. "Some of us have found ourselves the… _guests… _of what we've come to call the Mirror Universe in the past," he began. "Now we're on the opposite end of that. There's no way to sugarcoat this, people: Commander Shepard and the crew of the _Normandy _come from an alternate reality and some two hundred years in the past. Our task is to help them find their way home. I expect you and your departments to render whatever assistance you can."

O'Brien frowned. _"Any _assistance, sir?" he asked.

Sisko raised an eyebrow at him. "What's your concern, Chief?"

Glancing around at the _Normandy _crew, O'Brien held up his hands. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to help wherever I can." He turned his eyes back to his captain. "I'm just wondering at what point the Prime Directive applies here."

Sisko looked as if the thought had already occurred to him—and he'd noped nobody would think to ask. He brought a fist to his mouth, frowned, then raised one finger. "That… is a very good question, Chief. Use your best judgement for now, and I'll get back to you on that."

Shepard could see her own curiosity reflected on her squad's faces. "The Prime Directive, sir?" she asked.

Sisko sighed. "Starfleet's General Order One. To put it succinctly, strictly prohibits interfering in the development of other cultures—or timelines—particularly by sharing advanced technology. It's the Federation's highest principle, that we're expected to uphold at all costs."

"A law like that could have saved our galaxy a lot of grief," Garrus commented.

"Yeah," said James dubiously, folding his arms. "Or we'd've been overrun by rachni a thousand years ago."

Dax leaned forward, folding her hands on the table. "But you can see where this situation leaves it open to interpretation."

And could complicate things tremendously. "I do," Shepard replied. "We'll try not to stick our noses where they don't belong." To her own crew, she added, "And if any of Captain Sisko's people invoke this Prime Directive with any of you, you're to drop the subject immediately. Is that clear?"

A decidedly disappointed chorus of "Yes, ma'am"s and "Understood, Commander"s was the response.

"And that goes both ways," Sisko said firmly. "Any sharing of new technology is strictly prohibited unless specifically authorized by your respective commanding officer. Does that work for you, Commander?" he asked Shepard.

"Makes sense to me, sir," she agreed.

In all honesty, she was skeptical. But if this was going to work, she and Sisko needed to present a united front to their crews. They could hash out their differences in private. In the meantime, best to err on the side of caution.

"Good." The captain looked down at the datapad in his hand. "All right, people, Commander Shepard and I have put together a list of duty assignments. Chief, you'll report to Lieutenant Gregory Adams on the _Normandy _with as many people as you can spare to assist with repairs to the engines and hull. Mr. Vakarian and Miss Tali'Zorah will go with you."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Worf, you're with EDI and Flight Lieutenant Moreau. Find a way to patch their communications systems to ours so we can talk to one another."

"Aye, sir."

"Dax, you'll be working with Dr. T'Soni to figure out how this happened, and find a way to reverse it. Set up whatever you need in the science lab."

"Aye, sir."

"Major, I need you to set up temporary quarters for our guests. See Lieutenant Commander Williams for anything you need."

"Aye, sir."

"Everyone else, make yourself useful however you can. Any questions?" Sisko made eye contact with each person, and none responded. "All right, then, you have your assignments. Let's get these people home. Dismissed!"

As the newly combined crew filed out of the room, Sisko turned to Shepard. "If you'll meet me in my office, Commander, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you in private."

"Of course, sir," she said. "Lead the way."

* * *

Sisko grabbed the baseball of his desk on his way around it, tossing it into the air and catching it as he dropped into his chair. He chuckled lightly as he looked up at Shepard, standing at a stiff parade rest just inside the door. "Relax, Commander," he said. "Have a seat. I don't want to stand on ceremony with you. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, maybe?" He wondered belatedly if they even had coffee in her reality.

But as she pulled up a chair, Shepard gave him a smile that was equal parts grateful and weary. "Coffee sounds wonderful, Captain. Thank you."

Sisko turned to the replicator. "Two _raktajinos, _black." Two mugs of piping hot coffee materialized on the pad, and Sisko couldn't help but grin as he handed one to his astonished guest.

"Uh… th-thank you," Shepard stammered. She studied the mug in her hands as though uncertain if it was actually real. "'Any sufficient;y advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,'" she quoted softly to herself.

Sisko raised his eyebrows. "Arthur C. Clarke," he replied, earning a look of equal surprise from Shepard. "It seems our two universes share a fair amount of history. Or at least, our Earths do."

"Apparently." Shepard sipped her coffee cautiously, then nodded in approval. "That's delicious. What did you say it was called?"

"_Raktajino. _It's Klingon, actually. These Cardassian replicators have never been able to get Earth coffee right."

Shepard laughed at that. "Hell, it can be hard enough to get Earth coffee right without a… a replicator." She shook her head. "Klingon… that's Lieutenant Commander Worf's people, right?"

"That's right." Sisko took a sip of his own coffee, allowing the warmth and sheer normalcy of it to take the edge off this truly bizarre situation. "You've met a lot of new species today, haven't you?"

"No kidding," said Shepard. "There's no such thing as Klingons in my… my reality. Or Bajorans, or Cardassians, or Trill. I wonder where our universes diverged, that Earth would be so similar and the rest of the galaxy so completely different."

"Well, in this reality, there are no Turians, Quarians, or Asari. And no Reapers, either." Sisko set down his mug and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about this Reaper War."

Shepard closed her eyes and let out a long breath—and then launched into a story that made Sisko's blood run cold. She told him about Saren, Sovereign, and the Geth, her own death and resurrection, Cerberus and the Collectors. She recounted the invasion of Earth by giant sentient starships hell-bent on destruction, the battles for Palaven and Tuchanka, the coup attempt on the Citadel, the retaking of Rannoch and the crushing defeat at Thessia. She told him about the people she'd lost along the way: Kaidan Alenko, Mordin Solus, Thane Krios, and the many crewmen of the first _Normandy. _But most unsettling were her descriptions of the abominations the Reapers made of those they conquered: Husks, Cannibals, Marauders, Brutes, Banshees, and countless other unspeakable horrors. All of the peoples of her galaxy were embroiled in a desperate, seemingly hopeless battle for their very existence. It made the looming threat of war with the Dominion look like a spitball fight by comparison.

Sisko found himself looking at her in a whole new light. She couldn't have been much older than thirty: young even to hold the rank of commander, and yet here she was, saddled with more responsibility than most fleet admirals, in the midst of a war straight out of the midst of some Lovecraftian nightmare. And now, finding herself in a universe that had never heard the call of Cthulhu, all she wanted was to go back.

"It's probably arrogant of me to say I'm the only one who can complete my mission," she murmured, staring absently into her now-empty mug, "but… I'm probably the only one who _will." _She looked up at him again, and seemed to shake herself out of her reverie. "Captain, I can't thank you enough for all of your help. I don't know how to begin to repay you."

"There's no need," Sisko replied, waving off her concern. "We're more than happy to do whatever we can."

"Whatever you can." Shepard toyed with the mug for a moment, then took a deep breath and leaned forward. "About that. I'd like to know more about this Prime Directive."

Sisko blew out a long breath. "That's a bigger question than you know, Commander." He stood and began to pace back and forth, gesturing with the baseball as he spoke. "At its heart, the Prime Directive is a doctrine of non-interference. It was designed to govern contact with less developed civilizations. The simple interpretation draws the line at the development of faster-than-light travel."

"I take it it's not always that simple," Shepard remarked.

Sisko chuckled. "Almost never." He tossed the baseball a few more times as he considered his next words. "Starfleet's primary mission is exploration and discovery: 'to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.' The Prime Directive aims to keep us from unduly influencing the natural development of those civilizations. The trouble is, the degree to which it applies in any given situation is a matter of interpretation."

"I see." Shepard's eyes narrowed, and there was a distinct chill in her voice. "And in this _situation?"_

"There are a number of ways I could look at this," said Sisko with a sigh. "From a purely legal standpoint, you technically contacted us first, and asked for our help. That alone allows me to suspend the Prime Directive far enough to help you repair your ship and care for your wounded."

"It would be a pretty inhumane law that didn't," Shepard snapped, folding her arms. "I can't imagine not being _allowed_ to help someone who showed up shipwrecked on my doorstep."

"Exactly," replied Sisko, meeting her sudden hostility with outward calm. Damn it, if their crews were going to work together, they needed to be on the same page here. "It's supposed to be an ethical injunction. But the temptation to play God can be… powerful. The Prime Directive aims to curb that temptation."

Shepard still looked skeptical. "You said it only applies to pre-FTL civilizations, though. We have FTL travel. So what's the problem?"

She still didn't understand. Sisko stopped for a moment as he tried to figure out how to explain it, and then his gaze fell on the replicator in the wall. A simple, everyday thing for him, it had left her utterly astonished. He turned back to her and gestured with the ball. "Magic."

"Magic," Shepard repeated dryly. For a moment, Sisko could have sworn a faint scar on her cheek glowed dimly red. "You mean in Clarke's sense." She gritted her teeth. "Well, I think that's damned condescending, if you ask me."

Sisko sat down and folded his hands over the baseball. "Look, answer me this, Commander: what did Mr. Vakarian mean when he said a law like the Prime Directive could have spared your galaxy 'a lot of grief'?"

"That's not…" At Sisko's raised eyebrow, Shepard bit back her objections and sighed. "A few thousand years ago, a species called the Rachni invaded Council space. They were ruthless, relentless, threatening everything the Council races had built. So the Salarians took it upon themselves to find reinforcements. They provided another race, the Krogan, with the knowledge and technology to join the galactic community in return for helping in the fight against the Rachni.

"With the help of the Krogan, the Council races beat back the Rachni, and all but wiped them out. But Krogan society is centered on war and fighting, and they reproduced rapidly. They petitioned the Council for more colony worlds as their population exploded in peacetime, and when the Council refused, they rebelled. The Council races couldn't fight them, not so soon after the Rachni Wars, so the Salarians stepped in again. They created a virus called the genophage, that reduced the viability of Krogan young to a tiny fraction of what it had been. The Turians deployed it on the Krogan homeworld, Tuchanka, which put an end to the Krogan Rebellions." She shrugged. "Not saying any of it was right. But I'm inclined to agree with James: without the Salarians' interference in Krogan society, the Rachni would've overrun the galaxy millennia ago."

"Genocide? Biological weapons?" Sisko shook his head in disbelief. "In this reality, Commander, we call those war crimes."

Shepard glared at him, and yes, her scars were definitely glowing. Even her eyes gleamed faintly red. "Listen to me, Captain," she bit out. "I _rescued _the last Rachni queen. _Twice. _My friend _died _curing the genophage. Don't you _dare_ judge me and my crew for things that happened thousands of years before any of us were born!"

She stood and began to pace back and forth restlessly. "We—and by that I mean every being in our galaxy—we are all fighting for our lives, for our civilizations, for our very souls. The Reapers will stop at nothing to destroy us. You want to talk about genocide? About war crimes? About playing God? They've already all but exterminated the Batarians. They're razing agricultural worlds. The Turians are starving!" She brandished the coffee cup in her hand. "This—this—"

"Replicator," Sisko supplied quietly.

"This replicator technology alone could save them. Could save us _all," _she insisted. "The Reapers don't care about rules of engagement. They don't care who's a civilian or a non-combatant. They want to wipe us all out. They're coming at us not so much like an invading army as a force of—"

"A force of nature."

Shepard's eyes widened, and she froze, all the color draining from her face. "Captain Sisko, please. You can't—"

"_Bashir to Sisko."_

They were definitely not done here, but the urgency in Bashir's voice demanded Sisko's immediate attention. "Sisko here. What is it, Doctor?"

"_Captain, is Commander Shepard with you?"_

"She is."

"_I need her to come down the the Infirmary immediately. There's been an accident. It's Tali'Zorah."_


	3. Impossible Things

O'Brien fidgeted nervously as Nurse Jabara treated his wounds. He'd escaped the explosion in the _Normandy's _engineering subdeck with only superficial cuts and burns, but he'd been too concerned about poor Tali'Zorah to even notice at first. It was only after Julian had whisked her off to surgery that he'd even felt them. Jabara had had to pull medical rank on him to get him to sit still for treatment.

He couldn't shake off the memory of Tali's face, delicate skin marred with myriad cuts and burns, exposed behind her shattered mask. She'd told him why her people lived in sealed envirosuits, so seeing hers blown open like that had been terrifying. Even more so because she looked so young. He didn't know what he'd expected to see if he'd ever gotten to see her face, but her girlish and very humanoid features had taken him by surprise.

"Chief!"

The infirmary doors slid open and Shepard burst through, looking as though she'd run all the way from Ops. O'Brien snapped to attention. "Commander Shepard, sir," he said, before Jabara seized his chin firmly and forced him to turn back to her.

"Are you all right? Where's Tali? What happened?"

In better circumstances, O'Brien might have chuckled. It seemed Tali evoked the same protective instinct in everyone who knew her. But the urgency of her situation—and the fire in Shepard's eyes—kept him serious. He ignored the question about his own well-being and gave her the information he knew she really wanted. "Tali was working on an engine component, and it exploded in her face," he said. "Doctor Bashir and Doctor Chakwas have her in surgery now." He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Her suit was damaged pretty badly. I… I wish I could say it looked good, Commander."

"Hold _still, _Mr. O'Brien," Jabara scolded.

Shepard glanced at the closed doors of the surgical suite, biting her lip. She looked as helpless as O'Brien felt.

"She's in good hands with Doctor Bashir, sir," he offered as reassuringly as he could. "The best. I'm sure she'll be all right."

Behind the commander's mask of calm confidence that O'Brien could see her deliberately slip into place, Shepard's answering smile was weak and worried. "I hope so."

* * *

If she had met Julian Bashir in anything but a professional capacity, Karin Chakwas reflected, she probably would have found him insufferable. He was talkative and naïve and a hopeless romantic—not unlike herself in her younger days, to be honest, which she found faintly embarrassing. And he was so very young. Though he was probably around the same chronological age as Commander Shepard, there was an earnest innocence to him that reminded her far more of the ill-fated Corporal Jenkins. Add a more-than-healthy dash of casual, clueless arrogance to the mix, and frankly, she thought it was a miracle anyone on this station put up with him.

But her first impression of him had been immediately after the _Normandy's _arrival here at Deep Space Nine, when he'd had to triage dozens of people, including aliens he'd never encountered before, at a moment's notice. Despite his youth, he'd remained calm, tirelessly competent, and endlessly compassionate. He'd taken good care of her crew, and that made him all right in her book.

And today's harrowing events had done nothing to change that opinion. Julian had been holding forth about his aborted career as a tennis player (and Chakwas had been fighting not to roll her eyes so hard she could see her own brain) when Chief O'Brien's call had come in. All at once, it was as though a switch had been flipped. Young Julian was gone, and in his place was Doctor Bashir, snapping orders and directing preparations with crisp efficiency. And then when Tali had materialized in the infirmary seconds later, he tended to her with the same care and urgency Chakwas imagined he did for his own people—she certainly couldn't imagine him giving any more.

Chakwas herself had been reduced mostly to an advisory role in Tali's treatment—she simply didn't know how to use the advanced technology that Julian and his staff relied on. It had made her feel helpless and anxious, emotions that were entirely alien to her in her own med bay. But she needn't have worried. Tali slept peacefully now, looking terribly vulnerable in just a hospital gown with her face and hands exposed, but stable for the moment.

Tali had come in with cuts and burns all over her body, her suit torn to ribbons, her faceplate shattered. A ship component had exploded in her face, O'Brien had said, and her injuries had certainly borne that out. But now, mere hours later, there was not so much as a scratch remaining. A tiny device called a "dermal regenerator," once properly calibrated to quarian physiology, had healed her wounds in seconds, leaving her porcelain skin unmarred. It had been utterly astounding to watch.

Chakwas had seen some of Starfleet's medical technology at work when they'd first arrived here, but she had been a patient herself, being treated for smoke inhalation by a bajoran nurse while she fidgeted and fretted about her crew and commander. She'd been too preoccupied to marvel, and later, too wrapped up in restoring the _Normandy's_ med bay. But now, in the post-crisis quiet, she took a moment to stop, and stare, and wonder.

This was the kind of technology that could, if not turn the tide of the Reaper War, at least level the playing field considerably. The ability to knit bone, muscle, and skin in an instant—that could mean getting wounded soldiers back on their feet in minutes instead of months. It would mean less reliance on cybernetics, fewer lasting problems, and exponentially faster recovery periods. It would revolutionize medicine as she knew it.

"How's she looking?"

Chakwas had been so lost in thought, standing here watching Tali sleep behind the quarantine field, that she hadn't noticed Julian come up beside her. He'd spoken so softly it took her a moment to realize he'd addressed her. "Her vital signs are all right," she said. "Quarians run a bit warmer than humans, but she does have a low-grade fever we'll need to watch. Even a few seconds unsuited in non-sterile environments can be dangerous without proper precautions."

Julian nodded, his eyes fixed on Tali. "She's picked up a respiratory virus. It's harmless to most species, which is probably why the transporter didn't filter it out—or it's possible she caught it here, before we got her into quarantine. I've got the computer working on sequencing its genome so I can synthesize an antigen, but it'll take a few hours." He turned to Chakwas. "In the meantime, there's something I could use your help with."

For a moment, all she could do was stare. She was easily twice his age, and had likely been practicing medicine five times as long. But the sheer level of technology at his disposal made her feel like a med student again. What could he possibly need her help with?

A bitter, suspicious pet of her wondered if he was just patronizing her, trying to make her feel useful. "What do you need?" she asked cautiously.

"I think I can create a drug that will boost Miss Zorah's immune system temporarily," he said. "It wouldn't be a permanent solution, but it would allow her to leave quarantine until her suit can be repaired. Your knowledge of quarian physiology could speed up the process considerably."

Chakwas raised her eyebrows her jaw dropping open in surprise. "You must be joking. Just like that, you'll have her walking around without her suit?"

"No, I'm quite serious," Julian replied, looking a little taken aback. "It's just a theory, at this point, but with your help, I think it can work."

"Then of course I'll help." She tapped the communicator pin she'd been given. "EDI, can you please transfer all of our quarian medical data to DS9's infirmary?"

"_Yes, Doctor. Initiating data transfer."_

"Thank you. And while you're at it, send everything we have on turians, asari, and Protheans as well." She glanced at Julian and shrugged. "Best be prepared in case of any more accidents."

He nodded absently, already studying his various computer monitors as the data came in. "Yes. Good." He tapped a few buttons, isolating information and pulling up Tali's blood work. "We'll start with a baseline reading…"

* * *

Cold. That was the first thing Tali noticed as consciousness slowly returned. Her hands and face were cold. And she felt strangely light, as though she might float off the bed she lay on if she took a deep enough breath. The him and beep of medical equipment rand oddly clear in her ears, and she could hear Doctors Bashir and Chakwas speaking quietly to each other not far away.

She opened her eyes and found herself in the infirmary on Deep Space Nine, but everything looked strange. She frowned as she struggled to remember how she'd gotten here. The last thing she remembered was… she'd been on the _Normandy, _repairing a blown quantum flux inhibitor. That was it. She had thought she'd gotten it working again, but it had started making a strange noise and—

She sat up with a gasp of terror, but gagged and dissolved into a fit of coughing before she could say anything. Her nose ran, her eyes watered, and her throat felt as though it were stuffed with clay. She couldn't breathe!

But both doctors were at her side in an instant, easing her gently back down onto the bed. Something hard and bitterly cold pressed against her neck with a soft hissing sound, and in seconds, her sinuses began to clear and she could breathe again.

And that was when it hit her. A fresh wave of panic crashed over her as she clapped a hand to her neck, only to be greeted by the unfamiliar sensation of skin on skin as her fingers tangled in her hair. Her heart raced. Her mask—no, her whole suit was gone! She was breathing open, unfiltered air! Wearing nothing but a hospital gown!

"Hush, Tali, it's all right," Dr. Chakwas said soothingly. "You're all right. Just relax."

"What happened?" Tali whimpered, her voice sounding strange in her own ears. She struggled not to hyperventilate. "There was an explosion in Engineering and… and… _where's my suit?"_

Dr. Bashir laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of her gown. "Your suit was damaged in the explosion," he said. "You picked up a virus before we could get you into quarantine, but that should clear out of your system in a few hours. We can replicate a new mask for you, and I know someone who may be able to repair your suit, but it's going to take time." He gave her a reassuring smile—_keelah, _he was handsome when he smiled. "In the meantime, I've given you something to boost your immune system for a while. It'll only last about a day before you'll need another dose, but it should allow you to move around the station until the repairs are done."

Tali stared up at him until she thought her eyes might pop out of her head, hardly daring to believe what she'd just heard. Her breath caught in her throat again, and this time it had nothing to do with post-nasal drip and everything to do with the impossible dream he'd so casually offered her. It couldn't be true… could it? It was just too easy. Too matter-of-fact. "How do you know it will work?" she asked hesitantly. Her voice came out in a barely audible whisper.

But even Dr. Chakwas couldn't maintain her eternally serious expression, and a wide grin spread across her face. "We lowered the quarantine field hours ago. And aside from the virus you picked up earlier, there's no sign of any infection at all."

"Now, it's only a temporary fix," Bashir warned. "It's impossible to tell what the long-term effects might be. And your immune response is still weaker than most, so you'll still have to be careful. But it's enough that you don't have to stay cooped up in here."

"_Keelah," _Tali whispered aloud. She sat up slowly and stared at her hands, fisted in the thin blanket. The sight of them ungloved still made her anxious, but the texture of the material in her fingers was mesmerizing. To think… to think this was only the beginning! She shook her head in amazement, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders as if rejoicing in its newfound freedom. It tickled her neck, and she giggled. _"Keelah!" _she said again, laughing for sheer joy, and lightness, and wonder.


End file.
